These school-uniform complaining kids all look the same out of uniform!

People have a real habit of typecasting/pigeon-holing themselves when expressing their “individuality, inner being and artistic selves”.

They all look and act the exact same!

I have just been out on one of Greater Manchester's finest omnibuses, none other than a wonderful specimen of mechanical magnificence provided at vast private expense by Diamond.

On the one hand, it was nice to see the normality of a rather full bus; on the other, I had to immediately plug in the ear buds to drown out the great unwashed who plainly have zero notion as to how awful they sound when speaking on their mobiles in public. I’ll give them this; their self-embarrassment threshold must be incredibly high. It was a bus-full cacophony of very-badly speaking Paddy McGuinness’s.

I ambled upstairs to the gods to allow a very dextrous mother with her two mobile phones and perambulated snot-machine argue with the bus driver as to why she should not get preference over a young lad in a wheelchair (who was already on the bus). She actually wanted him thrown off to make way for her. A gentleman behind me loudly suggested that Manchester Airport should make way for her own triumphant return to the far east. I kept schtum!

I can only assume from the departure delay of the bus that she played the race card and threatened the power, might and majesty of the Iranian war machine to disengage itself from crap-stirring in the middle east and to send a drone forthwith to vaporise Diamond’s, and our, finest Mancunian bus.

I settled (loose word on public transport, I admit) in the second seat from the front upstairs, despite the magnetic attraction of sitting in the very front, right-hand vacant seat. This attraction would have been simply to annoy the pseudo-Rastafarian woman in the army surplus fatigues who I am quite confident did not pay a second fare to enable her fake Louis Vitton bag to take up the entire spare front seat beside her.

Besides, sitting in the very front up top usually results in you having to shift your knees into the seat behind anyway, difficult when you are above the stairwell.

The other seat in front was occupied by a very sultry looking late teenager, sitting sideways with her Doc Marten-booted feet on the spare seat. She lounged there, biting her nails for England, when not, of course, posting her life-dependent crap on InstaTok.

These girls (and their male equivalents) all look exactly the same! These are the teenagers who make their parents’ lives a misery because they are made, by very unreasonable teachers, to wear a uniform at school.

More worryingly, these are the teenagers who could be running the country in 20 years.

Yet they all look completely identical to each other themselves when OUT of uniform....if not more so!

Ridiculous, cheap tattoos, hideous bullring though their septum, chewing gum like a horse, 3 million bits of welding throughout their head, lump of metal though their tongue (is that REALLY the sort of advert a parent would wish to see their sprog offering), hair that hasn’t been washed since 2017, dirty red ribbon in hair, fishnet tights (or those moronic torn-at-the-knees jeans). 

 And to finish off, an ex-navy coat so big that they could shoplift in Home Bargains, B&M and Poundstretcher before security tumbles them. Oh, and of course, either Doc Martens, or those £9.99 cheap pronate-gait-inducing plastic platforms with 4ft high heels and soles from World of Wynsors.

It was like a bus load of Marilyn Mansons!